Atypical Lesson

TITLE: Atypical Lesson
AUTHOR: Sarea Okelani
E-MAIL ADDRESS: sareaokelani@hotmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.angelfire.com/wizard/okelani/
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: Story, Romance, Angst
SPOILERS: You're safe if you've read all of the HP books.
KEYWORDS: Draco/Ginny, Harry/Hermione, voyeurism
DISTRIBUTION: Please do not archive -- the full text of this story will be archived at my site or elsewhere at my sole discretion (mostly for version control issues). If you'd like to link to this story from your Web site, I'd be honored -- but drop me a line first, please.
DISCLAIMER: I once thought that I created the Harry Potter universe and was richer than the Queen of England. And then I realized I was confusing myself with JK Rowling. Again.
FEEDBACK: I always enjoy hearing how sick other people think I am. You won't disappoint, will you?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic was finished in time to join in birthday celebrations for Nappa, one of the O Wise Ones at Portkey. Happy birthday, Nappa! There's also a shout-out in here to the LJ crew, particularly Babygrrl. <g> Should be fairly obvious. As for the story itself ... I just get more disturbing as time passes, don't I? It might seem that way, but I assure you it's not the case. I've been quite disturbing all along. This story is a quasi-homage to the first piece of fan fiction I ever posted, a story called "Closet Doors," in the X-Files fandom. Beta thanks goes to Jade, Lissanne, and Ivy. You guys really are all that and a bag of every flavor beans. All mistakes are mine.

SUMMARY: People can usually rely on Hermione for help with their lessons, but sometimes even the archetypal teacher needs a little tutelage.


Atypical Lesson
by Sarea Okelani

~ ~ ~

I'm not sure who starts it. Whether he turns to me or I turn to him or we both get the same idea at the same time, midway through our study sessions we always end up snogging. I'm not sure how to keep this from happening -- after all, we do have fourteen inches of scroll due in History of Magic tomorrow -- but I'm not sure I really want to stop. After all, it feels so good, and don't we deserve a little happiness after saving the world year after year?

Harry's lips are soft and warm, and he has this lovely boy-taste that I can't seem to get enough of. And he smells like Harry, my friend Harry, who is brave and generous and kind and in all ways superior to all other boys his age. When I smell Harry I feel safe, because it means he's nearby, and he'll never let anything happen to me. He's proved that often enough. And when he kisses me ... the world falls away.

It's strange and yet perfectly natural to find myself in this position with Harry. It's taken long enough, hasn't it? After all, I think deep down I've always carried a small torch for him. What heterosexual girl wouldn't? Not because he's particularly handsome -- although he's certainly easy on the eyes; not because he's a genius -- though Merlin knows what he could do if only he'd apply himself a bit more; not because he's particularly funny -- well, he can be funny, but usually not intentionally; and not because he's a big sports star -- though he is that. It's because he's so good. Not the boring kind of good that most people are, but the kind that's so absolute he would stand out in any room. The kind of good that gives and gives because it doesn't know what else to do, how else to be. It makes him vulnerable. And that's irresistible, you see. I've read countless articles and anecdotes that all come to one conclusion: women like men who need them.

I'm no different. It's a heady feeling to know that Harry needs me. I just don't know what to do about it. Well, I've done enough research to know what to do, but actually doing it is another matter altogether.

You see, Harry has already had two girlfriends. He and his teammate Alicia Spinnet went out for awhile, and afterwards, he dated Cho Chang. Now, these girls were not your run-of-the-mill witches. They were both older, gorgeous, worldly, athletic. If you get my meaning. I don't even know how Harry got it in his head to start liking me in the first place. I'm nothing like them -- nowhere near as worldly (most of my experience come from books) or gorgeous (bushy hair, buck teeth -- well, not so much that anymore thanks to Madam Pomfrey's unwitting asanceance fourth year). And as for athletic ... get me anywhere near a broom and I'm likely to fall on my arse. Just looking at one can have that effect. Not exactly what you would call ideal girlfriend material for Hogwarts' pre-eminent Quidditch player, would you?

I might actually be able to get past all of that if only I weren't so scared -- terrified -- of what comes next. Harry is my friend. I know him better than anyone. But not like that. In that particular regard, Alicia and Cho know him far better than I do. It galls, and probably contributes to my irrational fear. Because I know it's irrational. I just ... can't help feeling it.

I've never had a real boyfriend. Viktor Krum doesn't count, because that was mostly flirtation and it didn't go anywhere, in any case. Then there was Ron, but he was possibly even more uncomfortable and terrified than I was, so that eventually tapered off to nothing. After awhile, Harry and I just sort of ... gravitated toward one another, and it was so, so easy to start a relationship with him. Because it wasn't really like starting a relationship at all; it was expanding the one we already had. Previously, we studied. Now, we've simply added a bit of snogging to the equation.

And because we're so comfortable with one another, we move through the phases of a romantic relationship more quickly than other couples. We've been going out for nearly eight months now, but it feels like eight years. In the best sense, of course.

I know he's ready to take that next step, and I want to as well. I just cannot get past the appalling thought that I might not be any good. I have tried to get past it, believe me. But no matter how many talks I give to myself or how much I read up on the subject, there's no substitute for the real thing -- experience. And that, I don't have.

Harry doesn't care, but I do. I hate being unprepared in a situation. I can't stand it. I very rarely feel inadequate, but this is one of those situations. And my discomfort would no doubt ruin it for the both of us. Yet ... I want to be intimate with Harry. Well, I'm pretty sure I want to. I think I'm ready ... but maybe I'm not. If I were truly ready, wouldn't I be able to get past this?

The thing is, when I'm kissing Harry, there's nothing else I'd rather be doing. It's only when things get a little intense that I start to let other thoughts intrude. Then the doubts and the uncertainties come. Should I put my hand on his shoulder, or would it be better on his waist? Is my knee poking him in the stomach? My neck feels really awkward, so maybe I should turn my head ... but if I turn my head will that make his neck feel awkward? And so on and so forth until my brain feels ready to explode. And on the few occasions when I've been able to ignore that constantly questioning voice, it all ends anyway when Harry puts his hand on my breast or a little too high on my leg. And it's not even that I don't want him to do those things, because I think I do, but I always get tense, thinking about what's coming next and the fact that I have no idea what to do to please him. But Harry never, ever pushes. The second I stiffen up in the slightest he pulls away, and there's never recrimination in his eyes, only lo
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And that's the hardest thing, I think -- to know that he loves me enough to do what he thinks I want, but I can't do the same for him.

~ ~ ~

It happened again today. We were kissing in my room -- Head Girl's private bedroom, very convenient for snogging -- and it beto gto get more heated. Happily, the unceasing self-doubt was quieter than usual, and for a second I thought, This is it. It's finally going to happen. And I was so glad and relieved.

Then Harry put han hand under my skirt, I jerked in surprise, and he pulled away.

"It's all right, Harry, keep going," I said, but I didn't really mean it. I wasn't as comfortable as I wished I was, and he knew it.

He smiled as he took off his glasses to clean them. "Hermione, it's fine,&; he; he said. He gave me a quick kiss. "I'm not in a hurry, all right? I just want what you want."

But I want this, I thought. I'm just too scared to do anything about it. I want it to be good for you, and I don't think it will be.



I hugged him as he went back to his homework, causing his quill to slip and smear ink over his parchment. "Hey!" he exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," I murmured into his ear.

"You're being ridiculous," he said gruffly, shaking me off but giving my hand a squeeze. "Come on, this report on the Ministry of Magic won't write itself."

I made him sleep in my room that night. We cuddled together like bugs in a basket. At least I was able to do that.

~ ~ ~

I sighed as I made my rounds for the night, having chased yet another snogging couple from some dark classroom. No one else seemed to have the same insecurities I had, and I was supposed to be smart and rational. Why couldn't I get past this?

Part of the problem was that I didn't have anyone to talk to. Quite frankly, I didn't know any girl w had had sex well enough to ask her about it. Most of the girls I knew were either inexperienced like me, or experienced but not someone I would feel comfortable talking to.

As I was passing the stairs to the dungeons I heard the sound of footsteps coming up. They sounlighlight and quick; no big Slytherin bully that I'd have to hex, then. I was surprised when I saw who appeared at the top of the stairs, her red curls falling about her face as she tried to catch her breath.

"Ginny!" I exclaimed in a whisper. She turned sharply, looking surprised and dismayed to see me. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Hermione," she said, and that seemed all she was capable of for a few moments. "I -- er, I was looking for -- well, you see, I left something," she finished lamely.

She was clearly lying. Even against the dimly lit stairwell I could tell that her eyes were bright and her cheeks were ridiculously rosy. She had probably met a boy down here -- though why they'd chosen these surroundings I couldn't imagine -- and I'd caught her before she could sneak back to Gryffindor Tower.

Before I could tell her to get her arse back to her room, the sound of another set of footsteps coming up the stairs startled us. For some reason Ginny pushed me out of the way, not hard, but enough so that I was obscured by the shadows and the approaching figure wouldn't be able to see me. I wanted to tell her that I was Head Girl and that if anyone should be hiding it ought to be her, but before I could I was stunned into speechlessness by the identity of the person who appeared at the top of the steps and proceeded to take Ginny by the hand and pull her near so he could kiss her senseless.

Draco Malfoy is kissing Ginny, I thought with a sense of unreality. Ginny is kissing Draco Malfoy. Repeating it a few times didn't help it make more sense. Had I somehow stumbled into an alternate dimension when I was making my rounds tonight? This was Hogwarts; it certainly wasn't out of the question.

But it wasn't likely, either. After a few more moments of shock, watching Ginny and Malfoy snog, I had to concede that this was actually my reality -- it just happened to be more bizarre than I had initially thought. This was Ginny! Ron's sweet, innocent little sister! Not so sweet or innocent, or she wouldn't be kissing Malfoy like that. And Malfoy! The person Ron hated above all others ... the person single-handedly responsible for some of our most miserable experiences at school. The person whose family hated Ginny's, the person whose father had actually tried to kill her. And she was kissing him as if her life depended on it.

Obviously, she'd recognized his footsteps -- or at least made the educated deduction that it was him as she probably hadn't left him too long ago -- and had pushed me out of sight so that he wouldn't see me. I wouldn't want to announce my presence at this point anyway; too embarrassing considering the situation, and also I'd look pretty ridiculous trying to take points from either 1) my own House; or 2) the Head Boy.

Soon -- but not soon enough for my taste -- Ginny and Malfoy came up for air, and she pulled away from him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, then pulled out what looked like -- oh dear Lord, they were knickers -- from the pocket of his robes. "You left these." He smirked.

Ginny colored, tucking a strand of bright red hair behind her ear. She reached out to take the underwear, but Malfoy moved them just out of her reach. "Ah, ah," he admonished softly, pulling her close to him again. "This will cost you."

Ginny willingly allowed herself to be kissed again, but when she had gotten close enough and Malfoy's guard was down, she grabbed her knickers out of his hand and stepped back. "Thank you," she said, smiling a little, then turned and walked briskly away. Malfoy propped one arm against the wall and leant against it, watching her WhenWhen Ginny was out of sight, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and made his way back down the stairs.

When I was sure he was gone, I made a beeline for Ginny. She hadn't gotten too far, and in any case that hair of hers was a beacon in the darkness.

"Ginny, what was all that about?" I asked when I had caught up with her.

She was silent for a moment, then said, "I should think it rather obvious."

This reply was not satisfying in the least, but I didn't want to come across as condemning her behavior, even though I condemned her behavior. "Ginny, that was Draco Malfoy! And he was returning your knickers!"

She had the grace to blush, and I was relieved that she hadn't changed as completely as it might have appeared. "Yes, well ... I had left them," she said.

"You had left them," I repeated. "With Malfoy?"

"Don't say his name like that," she said sharply. "He's not as bad as all that."

I let my silence speak for itself.

"All right, he is as bad as all that," she amended. "But he's really not so bad once you get to know him."

"Draco Malfoy is dangerous, Ginny. I'm surprised I have to tell you that."

"You don't," she said. "I know. You're right, Hermione. I've tried to stop seeing him many times. It just never lasts. I'm weak. Being around him ... he can make me do anything."

That was something I had never needed to know. "Well, it's not too late," I said. "Does Ron know about this?"

Ginny stopped her brisk walk and rounded on me. "No! And you mustn't tell him. Promise me, Hermione."

I hesitated. This wasn't Ron's business, to be sure, but at the same time he was one of my best friends and his little sister had gotten herself into a potentially risky situation. What was I talking about, "˜potentially'? This was Malfoy -- it was a certainty that risk was involved.

"Hermione. This has got nothing to do with you, and nothing to do with Ron," Ginny said, her voice firm. For the first time I realized that she was sixteen years old, nearly a woman, no longer the gawky child she had been even two years ago.

"Let's keep going," I said finally, beginning to walk again. Ginny had no choice but to follow. We were silent all the way back.

We reached the Fat Lady. I said the password, and the portrait swung open. "I'll think about it," I said as I climbed inside.

~ ~ ~

Over the next week, Ginny behaved as if nothing out of thdinadinary had happened, but I couldn't forget what I'd seen. The way she'd been with Malfoy ... had been so natural. She hadn't seemed discomfited in any way; when he'd pulled her to him she seemed to know exactly what to do, how to respond. And Malfoy certainly hadn't been complaining.

Meanwhile, I had three aborted snog sessions with Harry. I was getting a little frustrated, and I could tell it was starting to get to him, too. Poor boy, he had no idea what he was doing wrong, and I wanted to tell him that it wasn't him, it was me, but I didn't think he would understand. He'd just tell me that he wasn't in a hurry, that he didn't mind, that he liked things just as they were.

But I didn't, even if it appeared differently.

I'd done just about all I could to get past the obstacle of my uncertainty, but it still loomed, dark and forbidding. I couldn't help but think that I now had Ginny, a heretofore unknown resource. I could talk to her about sex; learn everything I could from her first-hand account about being with a boy in an intimate way. Armed with knowledge, my fear was sure to dissipate. But how to broach the subject?

My opportunity came on Thursday. Ron and Harry had just headed off to the pitch for Quidditch practice, a saw saw Ginny leave Professor McGonagall's classroom on my way back to Gryffindor Tower. She was rifling through her book bag and didn't see me approach. When I called her name, she turned, and when she saw it was me a wary expression settled on her face. I suppose I couldn't blame her, though all the same, it didn't sit well with me. If I had been less than supportive about her relationship with Malfoy, it was only because I was looking out for her best interests.

"Ginny," I said. "May I have a word with you?"

"Of course," she replied, and though her words were agreeable her tone was reluctant.

I noticed that a study room had made its temporary home not too far from us (you can always tell these rooms apart from the stationary rooms because of their particular long door handles, and an etching where the keyhole ought to be). I considered them study rooms, but my peers frequently used them for other activities. In any case, it opened easily as no one else had occupied it just yet, and Ginny and I went inside. I locked the door behind us. It wouldn't do to have anyone overhearing our conversation.

"I wanted to talk to you ... about the other night," I said.

Ginny sighed. "I thought that might be it. Honestly, Hermione, I don't need your interference. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice, even though I actually needed to be on Ginny's good side if I wanted her to answer my questions.

"Yes." Her tone was firm. "And even if I didn't, I still wouldn't need your interference."

I took a deep breath. "Listen, Ginny, I've decided not to say anything to Ron. I told you I'd think about it, and I have. You're old enough to make your own decisions, even if they're poor ones, and I won't begrudge you that right."

"Very big of you, Hermione, thank you."

I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not,I coI continued. "However, I ... would like you to do me a favor."

Wariness returned to her expression. "Yes? And what's that?"

"Nothing I or anyone can say or do will change your mind about Malfoy?"

Ginny hesitated, then shook her head.

"Fine. In that case, I ... would like you to talk to me about your relationship with him."

She looked confused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "I don't need a bloody counselor, Hermione. I don't know why you always think you have to--"

"No," I interrupted, before she went on to say things that I didn't necessarily want to hear. "I mean ... I'd like you to tell me about it, so I can ... learn." I could swallow my pride -- in this instance -- for Harry.

Now Ginny wore an expression of dumbfounded surprise. "Er -- I don't know what you mean."

"Well, it's like this ..." And it all came tumbling out. How I wanted my physical relationship with Harry to progress, but was insecure about my abilities, my responses. How I just plain didn't know what to do, and how much I wanted to please him. I couldn't believe I was just telling Ginny all this. She was Ron's little sister, someone we had always treated with kid gloves. But now it seemed that she had grown up, and there were things I could learn from her. Actually, if I thought about it, that was probably true at nearly any point, but I just hadn't seen her in that light. To me, she had always been someone to watch out for, someone who needed guidance. Now the tables had turned, and while in some ways it was mortifying, in other ways it was freeing. The relief of being able to tell someone else about my feelings of inadequacy was so great that several times she tried to interrupt me, but I wouldn't let her.

"First of all," Ginny said, when I had paused finally to take in some air, "you do realize that Harry will like it no matter what you do, right?"

I waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, so I've heard from various sources."

"Who else have you talked to? What else did they say?" Ginny asked.

"Well ... no one. But I've done research."

"Research."

"Yes," I said defensively, responding to the note of incredulity in her voice. "I know that men are generally easy to please, and that they are able to derive sexual enjoyment from just about any situation. But Ginny -- this is Harry. He's not just some man I want to please ... he's Harry. And I don't want him to like what we're doing just because he likes sex. I want him to like it because it's me." This was, of course, what lay behind all of the obsession over this topic.

"I understand," Ginny said softly, and I remembered that she had at one time had hopes for Harry herself. But she didn't sound envious; she sounded sympathetic. "And he will like it because it's you."

I threw up my hands and began pacing in frustration. "I want to believe that, but I just don't. I have absolutely no proof that that would be true. He's dated both Alicia and Cho, Ginny, and I know he ... did things with them. How am I to compete with them? I just couldn't stand thinking for one second that ... afterward ... he might think that one of them had been better than me."

Ginny crossed her arms. "I suppose I can understand that. So what would you like me to do, exactly? And don't say "˜Practice with me.'"

"Don't be ridiculous," I said. "I'd just like you to ... tell me about your experiences. That is, if you don't mind. You don't have to tell me everything, and it doesn't have to be personal. Just ... tell me what to do."

"I'm not an expert, Hermione."

"Oh, I know. But a first-hand account would be ever so helpful. You can imagine the library doesn't carry the kind of explicit instruction I'm looking for."

"Merlin, Hermione." Ginny sounded amazed.

"What?"

Ginny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "All right, first of all -- instructions on loving Harry isn't going to be in some book. Most of the time, you'll just have to go by what feels right in the moment."

"I'm not very good at improvisation," I said quickly.

"No, no, don't think of it in those terms. Think of it as ... appreciation. You're being given Harry, and you can do whatever you like with him. He's all yours. Study him -- you ought to be good at that. You don't know what he's like, not completely. He has mysteries. You just have to discover what they are. But it's not the actual discovery that bring the most enjoyment; it's the act of looking for them."

"I realize that. I just want to know how to give him a really great blow job."